Benito felt the trickle of water down his neck. 'I think some of it is because it's raining.'
'Oh, hell. These are my only clothes.'
Benito stretched, feeling her underneath him, muscled yet soft. 'Um. Well, I've got some ideas about that. You can't sleep out here.'
'I haven't got anywhere else, Benito,' said Maria. 'I'm not going back to the Garavellis'. The cousins were very unhappy about my moving in with . . . with Caesare anyway. I'll sleep under bridges. Take me a few days to find my feet, get together money for a place to stay.'
'What I was going to say is . . .' The next words came out in a rush: 'There is our--Marco's and my old place--in Cannaregio. It's got no windows and it's pretty noisy, but well, it's a roof. Got some spare stuff there, too.'
She was silent for a few moments. 'I don't want to be beholden.' There was a shutdown in that voice. Pure canaler pride.
Benito shifted position slightly, shivering. The wind and drifts of rain had taken the heat out of what had been a sultry summer evening.
'Maria,' he said quietly, gently. 'You don't owe me anything. Marco and I, we put a lot into paying back the debt we owed to Caesare. Strikes me we probably owed you just as big a debt. We kind of thought we were paying both of you back. But it wasn't really like that, was it? We are beholden to you. Our place ain't much, but until you get sorted out . . . it's yours. You're already wet. It's going to get colder. Marco would never forgive me if I left you out here.' He kissed her cheek. Then, awkwardly: 'There's no conditions attached . . . or anything like that. It's yours.'
She sighed. 'Benito Valdosta. You can be just like your brother, sometimes.'
Benito snorted. 'Yeah. But I lie down and it goes away. Marco's my conscience. I'm just Benito--the practical one, and trouble. Come on. I'm getting cold, and you must be too.'
'I've got a warm heavy blanket on top. But my back is tired of being wet. Let's see if we can sit up without having this thing over.'
They managed. Maria saw to her lacing. 'Benito,' she said. 'I'm sorry. I . . . used you. I needed someone and I used you.'
Benito shrugged, smiling widely. 'I didn't exactly mind! Actually . . .' His smile changed into something very shy. 'It was wonderful. We men don't feel the way women do about it.'
Maria snorted. She sounded almost her old self. 'I've noticed! So. Was it better than with that Sarispelli girl?'
'Uh.' Now Benito was embarrassed. 'It was--very different. And, yes, much better.' He suspected his face was bright red. 'The truth is, Maria,' he said very softly, 'I think . . . well. There's nobody like you. Not for me, anyway.'
Maria stared at him, for a moment. Then she snorted again. 'Benito. Sometimes you say exactly the right thing. Whereabouts in Cannaregio is your place?'
* * *
Kat cursed the rain. If there was one thing about her night-trips she hated more than anything else, it was getting wet. But she'd decided to never shelter in a church again! Under San Trovaso bridge was safer than San Trovaso itself.
When the rain slacked off, she headed on down the canal. She decided she'd been right to come through town. It was safe enough. There were few people about and they were hurrying to their destinations before they got caught by the rain again. The torch-bearers were scattered and lights from unshuttered windows were few.
She was not prepared for the shout from a torch-bearer. 'He's dead! Quickly! Come quickly. Bring lights. The bishop is dead!'
Shutters flew open. Lights spilled onto the rain-wet fondamenta, and the canal.
Kat put her head down and sculled. And as she did so, she saw a man slip from the shadows into the sotoportego. But in the momentary glance she saw him clearly. She started, and their eyes met. Then she hunched her face down and sculled. When she next looked he was gone, and she was into the comparative safety of the Grand Canal.
There was no doubt about one thing. She'd seen Eneko Lopez and he'd seen her. And neither of them, not her nor the creepy Spaniard, had wanted to be caught on the scene.
